


Certain

by draculard



Series: Pellaeon/Thrawn 30 Day Ficlets [24]
Category: Star Wars Legends: Thrawn Trilogy - Timothy Zahn
Genre: Actions vs. Words, Alien Cultural Differences, Arguing, Communication Failure, Developing Relationship, First Kiss, Fluff and Humor, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:53:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26615524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/draculard/pseuds/draculard
Summary: Pellaeon takes an enormous first step......and afterward, Thrawn won't even call him by his first name.
Relationships: Gilad Pellaeon/Thrawn | Mitth’raw’nuruodo
Series: Pellaeon/Thrawn 30 Day Ficlets [24]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1904581
Comments: 3
Kudos: 38





	Certain

The first time they kissed wasn’t _entirely_ a surprise to Pellaeon, but it was pretty low on his list of things he expected to happen that day. He hadn’t even expected the speech leading up to the kiss, and that had been _his_ speech — yet somehow, Thrawn had seemed more prepared for it than Pellaeon was.

When he thought back on it, he remembered the words less than he remembered how flustered he’d been, how his cheeks had flushed and he’d shifted his eyes sporadically between his own fingers — which he was kneading — and Thrawn, who waited patiently all the time, saying nothing and giving nothing away.

It was a ridiculous speech in retrospect. Unnecessary. Pellaeon had gone into Thrawn’s office looking at their situation from a human-centric, Imperial point of view. _I’ve never had a relationship with a man,_ he’d said stiffly, brusquely. _And I’m not entirely sure how this is supposed to go._

And then he’d stumbled over his words, rambling about upbringing — a ridiculous thing to bring up — and mental barriers — _embarrassing_ — and internalized prejudice and all sorts of unnecessary things. In short, he’d made a big deal out of nothing, and once he’d gotten himself well and truly worked up — and Thrawn, too; he could see the look of quiet anticipation on Thrawn’s face — he’d taken a deep breath, steeled himself, and reached forward.

And all he’d done was take Thrawn’s hand and squeeze it. 

Which, looking back on it, was possibly the most embarrassing move of Pellaeon’s life. Luckily for him, it had been overshadowed at once by what happened next.

The amused, affectionate look on Thrawn’s face. The easy confidence with which he leaned forward, cupping Pellaeon’s head in his hand and pulling him closer. The cool brush of his lips against Pellaeon’s as they kissed.

It was quick, chaste, sweet — thinking about it even now made Pellaeon blush. He’d never expected such a quiet, sure, comforting affirmation that Thrawn returned his feelings (or was at least willing to give it a try).

Thinking about it now put a bounce in his step as he walked to Thrawn’s quarters, entered the room, and—

“Good evening, Captain,” said Thrawn.

Pellaeon froze. He glanced at his chrono, confirmed that his shift was over — and so was Thrawn’s, a point accentuated by the fact that Thrawn was currently lounging in civilian clothes on his own bed with a datapad in his hands. 

“Captain?” Pellaeon repeated. Then, rather maliciously, “And good evening to you, too, Grand Admiral.”

Thrawn glanced up at him almost dismissively and didn’t bother to respond. Pellaeon’s first reaction — surprise, confusion, and amusement — faded into something cooler. He averted his eyes, pretending to examine the room when really he was trying to hold back a surge of disappointment and reflexive anger.

“Well, I suppose I’ll go, then,” he said stiffly. 

Thrawn looked up again, this time with eyebrows raised. “You don’t want to stay?” he asked.

“Do _you_ want me to stay?” Pellaeon responded. “Last night I was ‘Gilad.’ Today I’m ‘Captain.’ If you didn’t mean for that to be a sign…”

Thrawn said nothing, only looked at him. His expression was pinched but unreadable, as if Pellaeon’s anger brought him some mild discomfort, but nothing more. “If you’d like to leave, of course you are welcome to,” he said neutrally. When Pellaeon didn’t move, he added, “But it doesn’t seem as though you wish to go.”

Pellaeon scowled. “And if I stay?” he asked.

For a long moment, Thrawn studied him. Then, as if making a decision, he shrugged and returned his gaze to his datapad.

“You’re welcome to watch me read,” he said.

Pellaeon left.

He didn’t attempt to even reference their relationship — or rather, what he’d briefly hoped was a relationship — for the rest of the week. And Thrawn, damn him, didn’t make an attempt, either. He greeted Pellaeon on the bridge as emotionlessly as he always did; he made no attempts at conversation, even when they were alone in his command room; he didn’t invite Pellaeon to his quarters or address the fact that they’d kissed, or the cold reception he’d given Pellaeon afterward.

It was only after seven days that something changed. Pellaeon turned to leave Thrawn’s command room at the end of a brief report and felt cold fingers touch his wrist. He froze, turning back, and saw Thrawn looking up at him, posture relaxed and a faint smile on his lips.

Irate, Pellaeon yanked his wrist out of Thrawn’s grasp.

“What is it?” he said. Then, forcing himself to say it, “ _Sir_.”

Thrawn seemed unfazed by the rebuff. “Would you like to join me tonight for a cup of caf?” he asked.

Something inside Pellaeon’s chest twisted. He stared down at Thrawn, fighting back a reflexive scowl. “As colleagues?” he asked.

Thrawn raised an eyebrow. “I rather thought it was natural,” he said dryly, “to invite someone for a cup of caf after kissing them.”

For a long moment, they only stared at each other, Thrawn the very picture of confidence, Pellaeon fighting back the urge to break something.

“It _is_ natural,” he agreed finally, controlling his voice. “Right after you kiss someone, Thrawn. Not after an entire week.”

The confidence flickered, and Thrawn’s face became a blank mask. He studied Pellaeon for a moment longer and then drew away, turning back to the art holos before him.

“I see,” he said. “I misinterpreted recent events, it seems. I apologize, Captain.”

Standing next to the command chair, Pellaeon made a herculean attempt not to curl his hands into fists or show any other outward sign of frustration. He could feel blood pounding in his ears as he tried to control his temper. After a moment, he forced himself to take a breath; when he spoke, his voice was as calm and neutral as he could make it.

“Does that mean you regret kissing me, or…?”

Thrawn shot him an aghast look, possibly the most emotion Pellaeon had ever seen on his face — and it wasn’t much. He warmed a little at that, expecting a scandalized, ‘No, Gilad, of course not!’ But what he got was,

“It’s _hardly_ appropriate to discuss such things, Captain.”

“Kissing?” Pellaeon asked, his temper spiking again. And he couldn't help but notice that Thrawn said 'discuss such things' point blank, not 'discuss such things _now_ ' or 'discuss such things _here_.' He shook his head, temporarily speechless, and snapped, “ _You_ brought it up, not me.”

“The _act_ of kissing, yes,” said Thrawn, turning away from Pellaeon with an edge of horror still coloring his words. “Not the … _emotions_ involved.”

“Oh, for God’s sake.” Pellaeon grabbed the back of Thrawn’s command chair and pushed hard, swiveling Thrawn around to face him. “The emotions involved are the most important part,” he snapped. “Is this some sort of cultural thing? You kiss someone and then you give them the cold shoulder for a week, only to invite them to your place for a cup of caf?”

Thrawn cast him a cold stare. “Is it some sort of _cultural thing_ to assault another person with a twenty-minute declaration of love, only to hold their hand? You’re sending mixed signals, Gilad.”

“ _I’m_ sending mixed signals?” Pellaeon huffed. “By the Emperor, Thrawn, you've switched from calling me Captain to calling me by my first name within a matter of seconds, and I’m not even sure we’re dating at this point!”

Thrawn blinked, the wooden mask that was his face finally breaking. “So you _do_ wish to … begin a relationship?” he said slowly.

Feeling like he might just snap and murder Thrawn before it ever got to that point, Pellaeon forced himself to take a deep breath. “Yes,” he said, voice clipped. “I rather thought we already had.”

With a short, sharp exhale that might have been either a sigh or a huff of laughter, Thrawn leaned forward and turned off his holo displays. “You might have said so,” he admonished Pellaeon with a frown. So the short breath had been a sigh, then. And evidently, one of exasperation.

“I did say so,” Pellaeon said, squeezing his hands into fists and then deliberately relaxing them. “In a twenty-minute speech, as you so _kindly_ pointed out earlier.”

“Words,” said Thrawn dismissively. He stood, facing Pellaeon. They were almost chest-to-chest. 

“You prefer actions, I suppose?” asked Pellaeon, his voice sour.

“Infinitely,” said Thrawn. “I made my own position quite clear last week by kissing you — if we _must_ discuss it. You drew away.”

Pellaeon opened his mouth to protest.

“You haven’t touched me once this week,” Thrawn said, his features carefully arranged in an impression of boredom, as if he couldn’t care less whether Pellaeon touched him or not.

“ _You_ haven’t _spoken_ to me once this week,” Pellaeon protested. “How was I supposed to know you wanted—”

Impatiently, Thrawn gestured to his lips. Pellaeon fell silent, studying Thrawn’s face and suddenly feeling — well, not _angry_ , exactly, but not precisely happy with Thrawn, either. His heart thumped in his chest; his palms began to sweat. It rather resembled going into a battle. In fact, when he thought about it, he had this same ambivalent please-help-me/are-you-absolutely-fucking-incompetent feeling in his gut when he looked at Thrawn before battle, too. 

With a short sigh, Pellaeon leaned forward and kissed Thrawn — the same quick, chaste type of kiss they’d shared last week. When he stepped back, he got a quick glimpse of Thrawn’s face, relaxed and _almost_ smiling, before Thrawn’s eyes opened again. 

“You’re certain?” Thrawn asked, his tone one of interrogation. "No emotional speeches, please. But are you certain?"

Pellaeon didn’t even try not to roll his eyes. “You’re impossible,” he said. Then, relenting a little when he saw the hint of softness of Thrawn’s face, “I don’t understand you in the slightest, Thrawn. Let’s go have a cup of caf.”


End file.
